Chapter 36: Kindred spirit

"Oh?" Evans stroked his chin, a curious glint appearing in his eyes. "Professor Snape has a problem, you say?"

"Yes, Professor!" Hermione nodded emphatically, and a torrent of words spilled from her as she laid out all the clues they had pieced together. Ron chimed in with his own observations, and even Harry added details Hermione had missed.

After listening to their impassioned case, Evans nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. From their perspective, Snape certainly looked guilty. An idea, sharp and wicked, began to form in his mind.

"Since that's the case," he said, his voice laced with intrigue, "what do you plan to do?"

He didn't actually believe Snape would steal from Dumbledore. He knew Snape was a complex man—bitter, contradictory, and fiercely loyal to the Headmaster in his own strange, inscrutable way. Dumbledore's judgment was rarely flawed; he would never place his full trust in someone whose secrets could be unraveled by a few first-year students.

However, even if Snape was innocent of this particular crime, Evans was more than happy to help pin the blame on him. Any opportunity to needle the Potions Master was too good to pass up. After all, the man had cracked two of his ribs just a few days ago. A little payback was in order.

As for the children's safety, he wasn't overly concerned. Investigating Snape would likely earn them detentions and cost Gryffindor some points, but it posed no real danger. It would also be a perfect outlet for their vigorous spirit of inquiry. And who knew? While they were busy trailing Snape, perhaps they might stumble upon something truly interesting.

Like a certain secret Snape had buried so deep, Evans himself hadn't been able to unearth it in six years of trying.

Thinking of the look Snape had given Harry at the start-of-term feast, Evans felt a surge of possibility. But how to guide their investigation…

His fingers began to trace idle circles in the air, a telltale sign that he was weaving some mischief. But Hermione, unaware of her professor's subtle tells, simply looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"Professor," she said softly, "can't you just tell the Headmaster? Ask him to look into it?"

Evans's expression immediately fell. He shook his head, his voice low and laced with a tone of profound self-reproach.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking utterly dejected. "I'm afraid I can't."

He sighed. "Professor Snape was already the Head of Slytherin when I was a student. In the years since, he has woven a vast network of connections throughout this school. Many on the board of governors have… complicated relationships with him. The Headmaster trusts him implicitly. My word alone would never be enough to convince him that his most trusted confidant would do such a thing."

At his words, the light in the three children's eyes dimmed. A chilling image bloomed in their collective imagination: a great, dark cloud in the shape of Snape's face, looming over Hogwarts. From it, countless blood-red threads snaked down, entangling the professors, blinding Hagrid, and turning Dumbledore himself into a puppet. Only Professor Kahn stood below, looking up with eyes full of sorrow and despair.

It was terrifying.

"However," Evans said, his tone shifting, "if you can find irrefutable proof—something that shows Snape's true nature—then I can force the Headmaster to see the truth. You would be the heroes who saved this school."

He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "If you encounter any trouble, come to me. Bring me any clues you find, and I will help you analyze them. I believe in you."

As he spoke, he couldn't suppress the upward curve of his lips. Snape had been so wary of him during his own school days that his investigations had hit a dead end. Now, at last, he had a chance to finish what he had started.

A spark of determination ignited in Harry's eyes. Maybe Professor Kahn had painted a darker picture of Snape than he had before, but perhaps he was just protecting them, shielding them from the harsh truths of the wizarding world. But Harry wasn't an ignorant boy anymore. For the school that had given him warmth and a home, he would find the evidence. He would overthrow Snape's tyrannical rule.

And Professor Kahn would make a fine new Head of Slytherin, he thought.

Brimming with renewed purpose, the trio bid their professor farewell and marched out of the hut, already plotting their strategy. Evans watched them go, a satisfied smile on his face. They reminded him of his own youth, a time of beautiful, reckless conviction. He had a feeling Snape, too, would soon be recalling his own student days with vivid clarity.

Once they were gone, however, the smile faded from Evans's face. Another part of their story nagged at him. Someone had jinxed Harry's broom, nearly sending him plummeting from the sky.

The thought made his eyes go cold. That was no childish prank. It was attempted murder.

He knew it wasn't Snape. For all his animosity, the Potions Master wouldn't stoop to something so crude. If Snape wanted Harry dead, the boy would have succumbed to some untraceable ailment long ago. One should never underestimate a Potions Master in that regard.

This meant a dangerous wizard, one capable of overpowering a brand-new broom's enchantments, was loose in the castle. A wizard who could duel with Snape, as it was more than likely Snape had been casting the counter-curse, not the jinx itself. Finding the culprit in a stadium full of spectators would be nearly impossible.

Tsk… troublesome. He would have to speak with Snape in a few days to see if he had any leads. For now, he needed to find his little Lethifold.

Evans glanced at the back of his hand. A silver-white light pulsed softly, forming a three-dimensional map of the castle. A single dot of light was moving slowly across the second floor.

Hmm? How did the little cloak get into the school so quickly?

The little Lethifold felt hopelessly lost. That giant had chased it so relentlessly, it had panicked, crashing through a window of the enormous castle. Now, it was adrift in a labyrinth of shifting stairs and corridors. And if this was a school for wizards, did that mean it was filled with evil, soup-stewing people?

Wuwuwu…

"George, you still got some of that slug mucus?"

The voice startled the little cloak. Peeking around a corner, it saw two red-haired boys squatting by a staircase, whispering conspiratorially.

"Just a bit left. Hurry up, Filch will be on his rounds any minute!"

"No problem!"

Listening to them, the little cloak's fear began to subside, replaced by a deep curiosity. For some reason, it felt a strange kinship with these two boys.

It was the feeling of a kindred spirit.

(End of Chapter)

***

[Check Out My Patreon For More Chapters On All

Of My Fanfics!!] [www. p@treon.com/meowthtl]

[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[Thank You For Your Support!]